


To The New Worlds

by Broba



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-20
Updated: 2012-02-20
Packaged: 2017-10-31 12:32:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/344099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Broba/pseuds/Broba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was one of my most ambitious early stories I think. Back we went to 16th century Portugal! I forget exactly the kimkmeme prompt that led to this, but I believe it was loosely based around the story of Pocahontas. I'm amazed that people were uncertain who cor-de-Rosa was. I mean come on- Madeiras cor-de-Rosa? Portuguese for "of the rosy wood?" Which in French would be "a la londe rose?" It was a blatant clue!</p><p>This story came to a very blatant and abrupt end- I could have gone on with it, but I had told the important parts, and I wasn't hearin' anyone clamouring for more, so I'd say this AU is, ah, an acquired taste!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Johann van den Egmond laid back and dreamed of the low countries. He put it all together in his mind again, the narrative that had taken him from the north of Holland to the New World in the company of madmen and adventurers. The sun and the fevers made it easy to drift and think of nothing, and that was a danger. Many before had lost their minds to the jungles of the Carolinas simply by letting slip their normal discipline.  
  
Being of the Dutch Calvinist tradition, being brought up on Erasmus, van den Egmond knew better then to feel sorry for himself and succumb to grief as had the Catholic sailors he had shipped with. The Lord almighty in his heaven had set his great plans in action and there was no act of man either good nor ill which would set athwart that holy course. Van den Egmond simply laid and thought back over the sea passage to disaster.  
  
The voyage into the Carolinas itself was beset with difficulty from the start. To begin, the territory was under royal British charter and the first colonies from Barbados were entirely British- and Catholic Spaniards and Portuguese were less then welcome. For this reason the expedition would be flying Dutch colours as a flag of convenience though personally, van den Egmond felt that this slim pretext would be of limited use. In fact, his first instinct had been to turn down the offer entirely when he was approached by the Portuguese knight.  
  
The Spanish territory that had been established around Florida as it was then known was bordered by the Caribbean to the south with the British and, worse, the French to the north, a fact which put the Spaniards on a difficult footing in the lucrative New World. If new territories could be opened up to the north and claimed by the Catholics, then the rewards both art home and from holy Rome would be great indeed. Egmond didn't care about that, all the way up until the mention of great reward. Men would set to sea for money or adventure as certainly as water would flow downhill, and so he had agreed to outfit a barque with provisions and head the difficult sea crossing of the Atlantic under Dutch colours, with Portuguese soldiers lurking in his hold.  
  
The Malleus Factum had made impressive time in the crossing, earning him the respect of the crew and their Portuguese paymasters. Egmond had taken to the southern latitudes well, delighting in the hot sea breezes and taking the schools of porpoise and dolphin that gambolled and raced the vessel as a sign of good portent. He had been leaning on the postrail staring into the sea, his clay-pipe dangling from his lips, when the knight had approached him with a hearty bellow.  
  
“Ho, Dutchman! Another day closer to paradise, hey?”  
“Aye true, though it's for more earthly rewards I run my beam.”  
“Ah, does the gratitude of the holy mother church alone not satisfy you?”  
“My immortal soul is filled to brimming with delight sir, it is my base clay flesh which demands rum and bread!”  
  
They were only being semi-serious, and shared a laugh at it. The knight, even in these climes and even aboard ship, still wore his immaculate costumery and spurs. Not one fleck of allowance was given the situation- each morning he would appear well-shaven and perfumed, without so much as a golden hair out of place. The good sir, Tiago das Madeiras cor-de-Rosa of Lisbon, was the impelling force behind the voyage no less then the very wind itself that Egmond bent and shaped with his sails. He was a typically Portuguese knight, in that he was flamboyant, egotistical, and entirely charming in a hispanic way. Egmond found himself liking the man even as he regularly pointed out that the voyage was an ill-conceived mad one that he, Egmond, would have no part of beyond depositing the travellers and waiting for the appointed time at the nearest British port before retrieving them again. As far as he was concerned the journey was strictly one of exploration, and his part consisted strictly of shipping the men. That was the safe way to a limited though generous reward.  
  
“You should spend more time contemplating the divine. You Dutch are all alike, though your minds are sharp enough there's no subtlety!” cor-de-Rosa laughed.  
“The northern climes of Europe are cooler, and we breed colder men there I think.”  
“As you say, there's no accounting for the deficiencies of your race.”  
“Sometimes I think you say these things just to hear my reply, am I so interesting?”  
“There's little else worthy of study out here Dutchman, perhaps I shall pen a tract on the relative merits of Dutch thinking.”  
  
The knight grinned, but Egmond would not have been surprised had he done exactly that and got his writing implements out. The knight was a scholar and had been making astute observations and sketches of the crew. Though not a seaman, cor-de-Rosa had taken to life aboard ship well and learned their routines easily enough, and he spoke a very passable Dutch too- for all the gentle teasing, cor-de-Rosa was a very intelligent man, in the opinion of Egmond.  
  
Egmond stared upward into gathering steel-grey clouds as his memories unwound. Forest surrounded him, the dense jungles of Florida or perhaps the fragrant Carolinas, he had no idea how long or how far north he had gone, less idea which territory he found himself in. As a Dutchman he would be considered, loosely, a neutral party but he couldn't count on that when- if- he did encounter civilised life. He offered up a prayer and got to his feet, smacking the dirt from his breeks and setting his hat aright. There was no sign of anything like a colony for as far as he could see, but his view was limited- he needed to get higher. There was no sign of the crew, or the Portuguese either. Perhaps they were all lost- a lot more lost then he was.  
  
As the sun began to set he was still climbing, he had reached the peak of a valley wall. There was little in the way of shelter, and the nights could be clammy and chill. Fortunately he had flint and steel with him, and if he could not have the comforts of civilised life he could at least enjoy the warmth of a fire. Egmond pulled his pilot-cloth coat around him and adjusted his eyeglasses with a weary sigh. Many more nights like this would be the end of him, he knew it now. He had run out of hard-tack and the fruits he was able to gather were little sustenance. He had little left, physically and spiritually.  
  
Though he thought that he had closed his eyes only for a moment, Egmond opened them again to see infinite blackness and a vista of stars, he had entered the deep night. And, he was no longer alone.  
  
Across from him, separated by the fire, crouched some kind of a native to the region, a savage. Egmond slowly and cautiously shifted position, and the man looked up. His skin was as grey as ash dust, and tucked into a rawhide belt Egmond could see a wicked looking knife, long and curving until it was closer almost to a sickle. The apparition was clothed in a hide loincloth with rough looking trews, flared at the thigh and gathered in close at the ankle with cords. As he squatted there the overall effect was to make him look like nothing so much as a crab balanced precariously on his spindly thin ankles. At first Egmond had thought his greyness might be the result of mud or some crude clay paint applied liberally to his bare chest and arms but this was not the case- the man looked directly at him and mopped his thick hair back with a casual motion, revealing rounded horns. A homunculus!  
  
Egmond knew the danger, he had been warned in church as all children were to beware the trickster homunculus, who would come in the night and bite off one's nose, or commit perverse atrocities for amusement. Always Egmond had been doubtful, as the cruel pranks of the homunculus always seemed to be tied in to the sermon of the week in some way and the only defence offered by the vicar was to be a better and more obedient child. This smelled to him of a manipulative ploy  by his parents and teachers yet here he confronted one of the diabolical things in person! Even here in the New World, far distant from the low lands of Holland the homunculus was sat waiting for civilised man to arrive just as surely as they waited in the weekly sermons, always there to be called upon as an example of devilry and wicked sin.  
  
“Devil!” He called out when his voice returned to him, “wicked one, get ye behind me!”  
  
If the homunculus could understand, it was surely not impressed in the least. The thing showed his teeth in an unpleasant sneer and replied back in a series of guttural, clacking sounds. The language was unlike anything Egmond had encountered before, sounding like nothing so much as wooden sticks knocking together, clack-clack-clack. Egmond saw he was getting nowhere with that approach and besides had nothing with which to threaten the creature really, and so he started again.  
  
“I'm a Dutchman,” he intoned slowly. He pointed to his own chest, “Dutch... man... you see?”  
  
The homunculus hissed and pointed to him, mocking his tone.  
  
“Dyuk-ch... mun.”  
  
He made a fair pass at Egmond's accent when he did it, and the Dutchman got the distinct impression that he was being mocked somehow. The homunculus was making that clack-clack laughing sound again. Egmond slapped his thighs and huffed in irritation.  
  
“Fine! What's your name then my mocking grey friend!”  
  
Clack-clack.  
  
“Name? Yours?”  
  
Clack-clack-clack.  
  
“Carry on that way, fine! I don't care if a devil laughs, it's not my soul forfeit!”  
  
The creature seemed if anything to be all the more amused at Egmond's agitation, he rocked back and forth in that odd squatting position leering horribly and making it very plain that he enjoyed the mounting distress of the Dutchman. Egmond would just had well said nothing more and left the creature to its own devices, but he was still somewhat scared of that wicked looking sickle, and he didn't fancy his chances to well in a pitch black forest at the dead of night. The homunculus seemed to have no inclination to leave either. Egmond was growing rather insulted- the beastly thing was entirely happy to enjoy the warmth of his fire, but considered him an irrelevance, an irritation that was good perhaps for a little amusement. Though his manners were rough and simple in the manner of the low lands Egmond was not used to being treated in such a manner. He could not persuade the thing to leave, and he didn't want to provoke violence, but his entreaties had achieved nothing. Egmond decided to be more blunt.  
  
“I'm called van den Egmond, because I come from Egmond in the north of Holland you see? Wehre do you come from, that will be your name.”  
  
The being looked at him with an expression that managed to drip sarcasm without actually making comment. Egmond held up a hand and mimed two fingers walking, and then described the bob and draught of a boat with waving motions.  
  
“I left the land and went to sea, so I came here. To the New World, you see? Were you born near here? Florida?”  
  
The homunculus clacked his tongue and clicked his teeth. He started miming back in return, but Egmond wasn't sure he understood. First a circle, and then hands held together in a point, like a house or a church-steeple. The homunculus made a whooshing noise with his lips and cheeks, and the mime of a church-steeple rose upward.  
  
“A steeple? And it rises into the air, with the sound of wind? Ah, big wind? Much wind?”  
  
Hands pressing down onto the ground firmly.  
  
“The steeple comes down again- here? Pah, you trickster, you devil! A flying churchtower indeed! And me limited to a simple boat and the wind at my back, what a savage I must seem!” Egmond found it was his turn to smirk at the ridiculous outlandish tale that was being described to him.  
  
The story was not over however- a mime of walking feet, and much distance... the hand weaving around as if drunk or- lost? Then the man held up his hands for attention with a grave serious expression. He pointed to himself, then mimed walking, then mimicked the boat-rocking motion he had seen before and pointed to the east- emphasising the direction.  
  
“I have it! You came here in your magic steeple that floats on the wind but you were lost- and you want to go across the sea now? You want to- to go there?” He pointed and the devil nodded vigorously.  
  
“Ha! You are like me! You want to go to sea!” Egmond grinned, and the homunculus even managed a smile.  
  
“I'll call you Go-To-Sea then! How is that, Go-To-Sea?” Egmond looked at him expectantly, and pronounced it carefully in Dutch, “Gaan-Zee?”  
  
The creature looked at him with such an expression of mingled pity, horror and disgust as Egmond had never witnessed. He thought then and there, in a moment of sudden and crystalline clarity, that the demon would sever the Dutchman's head for such madness, and then his own just for hearing it!  
  
“Alright then! Not Gaan-Zee, I'll think of another one!”  
  
He clacked his teeth firmly and made a chopping motion with one hand as if to say, make it a good one.  
  
Egmond stared back blankly, thinking over the miming. He steepled his fingers, describing a pointed upward shape. “Church.” The homunculus nodded. Egmond bobbed the “steeple” a little bit and made half-hearted whooshing noises. The creature rolled his eyes dramatically and steepled his own fingers, making much louder whooshes and emphasising the fact that this was a particularly large and impressive insane flying tower he was trying to describe.  
  
“Oh, not a small steeple then.”  
  
Clack.  
  
“A big one? Um, powerful? Whoosh whoosh yes?”  
  
Clack-clack-clack!  
  
Egmond rolled his eyes. “Fine, you came here in a big powerful magical flying wind-steeple! That should be easy enough. Strong Church!” He laughed and said it again, pronouncing the Dutch slowly, “Kirk-Kracht!”  
  
Oddly, that seemed to satisfy the creature, and so Egmond found himself chattering away aimlessly to Kirk-Kracht who settled back to indulge him amiably enough.


	2. Chapter 2

As Egmond was soon to learn, his new found companion would inevitably vanish by sunrise, only to return every night. At first it seemed that Kirk-Kracht was only interested in the fire, until the night that Egmond broke his flint. It was easily enough done, the tiny stone piece simply crumbled into pieces, and Egmond found himself without means of producing fire. He tried first to use his eyeglasses to start a flame with the sun's rays but that was much harder then he had imagined, and after a short rainshower there was little good tinder to be found among the bosk and bracken.

Kirk-Kracht arrived, to Egmond's surprise, and took in the scene with cool equanimity. Egmond tried to explain that he could no longer produce flame for the savage, showing his broken flint. He had expected Kirk-Kracht to turn away in disgust at that, but instead the homunculus just shrugged and unwound a slender rawhide cord from his waist where it had been tied almost invisibly. Egmond watched in amazement as he picked a sapling bough from a tree much like a willow, he bent the bough like a bow and affixed the cord to either end like a bowstring. Winding a stick around and around in the string at it's middle, he turned to the meagre pile that Egmond had assembled earlier in the day and set to work. He used the crude bow-drill with consummate ease, soon drawing a few reedy sparks from the tinder, and lighting a flame. Egmond had never seen anything like it in all his life.

"All this time, you could make fire with no more then a piece of string?"

Clack-clack, went his teeth, that mocking laughter. Egmond was starting to believe that the homunculus was picking up a lot more civilised language then he had at first assumed.

"Kirk-Kracht, do you have food? Or the means to acquire any?" He asked with hope- the seemingly aimless savage might have more faculties then he had yet seen, "I am getting very hungry I- think I'm starving here."

Kirk-Kracht just stared at him for a long, uncomfortable moment. He patted his own belly quizzically and Egmond mimicked the gesture, nodding vigorously. Kirk-Kracht just raised an arm and pointed around him vaguely, grunting here and there. He seemed incredulous that the Dutchman was professing hunger when surrounded by such obvious and plentiful bounty; for his part Egmond saw a twilit vista of foliage and thought his savage companion quite mad.

"I don't- I can't see anything! What are you pointing at!" Egmond was becoming agitated, even as Kirk-Kracht was getting even more amused. Finally, the savage held up a hand to mollify him and grunted, pulling himself up to his feet. He planted his feet with his back close to the fire and slowly extended his arms loosely and dropped them to his sides, with his palms out. Egmond watched in fascination as the homunculus took a long, deep breath and relaxed every muscle in his body. Egmond could see tension literally drain from Kirk-Kracht inch by inch, as he relaxed and concentrated. Kirk-Kracht narrowed his eyes and watched. The forest all around him was literally alive with prey, it was simply a matter of picking a victim carefully, isolating the slender thread of sound that indicated a small, creeping mammal. In the direction of a nearby tree he heard what he was waiting for- a prize. The fire drew all sorts of curious or predatory eyes from the forest, it was a lure as much as a warning. Egmond found himself catching his own breath, unable to take his eyes from the lithe, compact musculature ridging the grey back of the homunculus. 

Without any warning, in a smooth gesture so natural and inevitable that at first Egmond though that he had collapsed, Kirk-Kracht dropped a shoulder to snatch up the sickle in his belt, yank it free and toss it on the upswing into the darkness. There was a solid, wooden thump out there, and he leered in satisfaction. Egmond looked on in sheer amazement as Kirk-Kracht strode forwards a few steps into the dark, and returned with both his sickle, slicked with blood, and the limp, plump body of something furred and dark. The sickle looked primitive but Egmont had to wonder, it had flown through the air end-over-end with perfect balance. In fact, as he thought about it, the curving blade pinwheeling through the air would be fat more likely to strike something then a slender Western dagger. The thing hardly had any range to it, but in Kirk-Kracht's hand it was lethal- that much was grimly clear.

Kirk-Kracht set the beast down and set to skinning and preparing it, breaking the sternum quickly to spatchcock the little thing and gut it expertly. He needled thin sticks through its' tendons and soon the air was filled with the scent of sizzling fat and popping gristle. The very idea of meat- real meat- filled Egmont with holy delight, he had never in his life desired anything more after what seemed like an eternity of meagre rations and fruits.

"Kirk-Kracht you are a scholar and a gentleman!" He exclaimed. Egmond shuffled closer- closer to the meat- and slapped a hand heartily on Kirk-Kracht's shoulder. In return, Kirk-Kracht eyed him suspiciously and clack-clacked at him in that weird, guttural language of his. Egmond still understood not a work of it, but he thought he heard " _Dyuk-ch mun_ " in there, and felt an obscure sense of pride that he had at least had some kind of impact on the enigmatic homunculus. Despite his obvious civilised superiority to the ashen-hued heathen, Egmond could not shake off the feeling that he was regarded as, at best, amusingly backward.

When Kirk-Kracht judged that the meal was ready, he indicated with an imperious nod that Egmond may eat. They took turns pulling hot flesh from the carcass, and the taste was gamey, juicy and delicious beyond reason. Kirk-Kracht took to chewing on the bones and extracting the meagre drops of marrowbone, Egmond declined that particular ritual as he felt a need to maintain at least a veneer of Christian propriety. Though the beast was small, they had enough for a meal along with fruit and tubers which Kirk-Kracht extracted from around the roots of certain trees with his sickle-tip and chewed on thoughtfully. At an unspoken time the meal was drawn to a close and they both just sat and watched the fire. Egmond sighed and drew his coat around him more tightly. The fire was lessening now, and the night was drawing in with cool airs. Kirk-Kracht seemed not to notice. They sat, they watched. The fire cracked and hissed, they listened and smelled.

"Kirk-Kracht, you're a better man then most," said Egmond idly, half in reverie. "You're a better man then most Spanish and definitely an English. If your soul is damned then that's the business of the holy father, but in this life I'd say you're a better man. Then most."

If Kirk-Kracht appreciated the praise, he didn't show it.

While Egmond had been spending his nights with his savage, far more savage days had been unfolding to the South, where the _Malleus_ had beached after the disaster.

The colony was barely worthy of the name- it was a watchtower with a wooden stockade, defences consisting of little more then wooden stakes driven into the ground in a rough approximation of a border and a few rude huts. This was little more then a way-station on the coast where the shallow-draught boats could tie up and resupply on their way to and from the major colonies. This was also where a small band of Portuguese soldiers were interred in irons, within the longest hut. The British had been less then hospitable and it would have been hard to blame them in the face of what very much appeared to be a stealthy advance force of invaders. All that had kept the prisoners alive was the fear among the British that the foreign devils were coming in force after this small vanguard. The Station was defended by a number of culverin and falconet aimed out to sea, and patrolled largely by longswordsmen and footsoldiers with polearms.

The waters of the river delta around the station hissed and seethed with insect life, mists and vapours rose constantly in the noon sun, and the armour of the men on patrol sent blinding flecks of light scattering across the forest. Standing on the edge of a duckboard pontoon, a soldier took a break to enjoy a pipestem and gaze out at the waters. The men were all on edge, and nerves were frayed. A rest from patrol now and then was only to be expected and if the man slouched a little and perhaps allowed his attention to falter it was no more then human of him.   
  
Cavaliero Tiago das Madeiras cor-de-Rosa emerged from the waters like a wrathful spirit and speared the man through his gizzards from behind with a quick thrust, spinning on a heel to rip out his sword with a sickening splash of gore.

He strode along the pontoon with a brash jangle of spurs. He was inside their defensive wall now, too close to hope at swinging around the culverins, the alarm went up instantly. Two men charged at him, his capes dripping with green ichor and weed, his fine garters stained almost black. He took the first almost dismissively, knocking aside a too-frantic thrust with his main-gauche and whipping his rapier-tip over the man's throat. The soldier fell into the water and may have died, then or later, cor-de-Rosa already strode on. The next was more cautious and had a longer, heavier blade. He delivered an overhead chop that cor-de-Rosa caught on the crossblades of his main-gauche and rapier. He lashed out with a boot and caught the British solider on the shin, unbalancing him for a moment which was long enough for cor-de-Rosa to stab at him with blades like flickering needles, puncturing the man severely and wounding him to incapacity.

The soldiers were trained well enough to know better then to throw good money after bad, a squad of men with polearms charged, their tips glinting hungrily in the bright sun and taking no chances on close combat. Cor-de-Rosa reached down to the man he had just downed and pulled a dagger from his belt, tossing it casually. The throw was pedestrian and did no more then make one of the men flinch for a moment, the other two glanced aside for a second to check their comrade, and in that moment cor-de-Rosa was among them like a fighting devil, killing them all.

Cor-de-Rosa reached the first of the demi-culverins, abandoned in the confusion, and a little way beside it a brazier within which pitch burned, always ready for the need to fire the gun. He lifted a length of wood from a nearby pile left there for that purpose and dipped it in the brazier. As the soldiers ran for him, he tossed the burning brand casually through the window of a hut, setting a blaze almost immediately. The men came at him and he span, presenting each hand position in turn with lethal efficiency, finding instantly the particular weakness of each foe and exploiting it. A blade was turned aside to allow in a killing blow, or else a knee or elbow lashed out at an unprotected point and sent a man sprawling. Where cor-de-Rosa felled a man he might stab downward to end it for them if he had a moment, but he took no particular time or pleasure in it.

By the time he reached the main stockade where his men were prisoner, the station entirely was in uproar. Half of the soldiers were convinced a new armada had come from Spain, the other half accepted that they faced one man but ascribed to him some kind of diabolic influence. Enough fires had been set, and at least one had reached a barrel or canister of gunpowder, that the din and smoke and chaos was overwhelming. Cor-de-Rosa smashed open the stockade door with a boot. Within, the Portuguese had been corralled into an area surrounded by supplies and loadings, where soldiers had guarded them closely while the commanding officer decided what to do with them. Cor-de-Rosa had killed that man without rancour.

When the Portuguese saw who had come for them, the cheer went up. Cor-de-Rosa freed the first two from their leg-irons with blows from an axe that he had snatched from an unfortunate Englishman and from then they went about their fellows, soon the party was freed and taking up staves, blades and whatever weapons were available.

Though it had begun at noon itself, but the setting of the sun the station was theirs alone and they had supplies and loadings, as well as a tiny coastal brigantine that had been lashed up. The men loaded her and rigged her, they were not sailors by profession but all men of Portugal worth their salt had even a passing knowledge of the sea-ways. Cor-de-Rosa announced that they would proceed as planned, as far as they were able to, North. Though the brigantine, which he renamed _Agulha,_ was trim and quick, she was a strictly coastal vessel that would never manage a sea crossing safely. Even if they had intended on heading for home, without a navigator they had little chance against the Atlantic.

"If the Dutchman is alive," mused cor-de-Rosa, "we need him."


	3. Chapter 3

It was on the seventh night, that Kirk-Kracht revealed something to Egmond which changed everything. The homunculus would wander restlessly all the time, and even when he would visit Egmond in camp he always glared into the night, he always had the air about him of one who would much rather be somewhere else. Egmond would move of course, tracking through the forest in search of some sign or landmark to help him, but Kirk-Kracht would always find him and always seem vaguely disappointed that he was not elsewhere.

Egmond had taken to breaking camp early, and waiting expectantly for Kirk-Kracht to guide him. At first the homunculus was untrustworthy, then mocking as he always seemed to be, but finally he seemed to acquiesce and strode off into the forest deep into the night, uncaring if Egmond followed. Of course, Egmond did follow. The two of them made good time through the forest, if only because Kirk-Kracht knew the routes and knew the best ways to travel. Egmond regularly tripped and stumbled but Kirk-Kracht never did, Kirk-Kracht helped him when he found the going hard. They moved, night after night, and in time Egmond began to get a sense of how Kirk-Kracht did it. The forest was no enigma to him, it was a supportive womb that provided everything needed or desired. When Kirk-Kracht itched a tree branch was a scratcher, and in an instant the same branch would dig nutritious grubs from a tree bole, or drill the soft earth for a few drops of muddy but satisfying ground water. Kirk-Kracht carried nothing, and yet he always had everything he could possibly need to hand. He was a genius at fashioning a tool from a scrap of foliage, a twig, a length of tendon. Egmond began to watch him and after a time he even began to imitate the actions of the savage. Not a savage, Egmond realised one night as he watched Kirk-Kracht sip dew from a cone-folded leaf, but a being perfectly adjusted to his environment. What did Kirk-Kracht mind if he had no compass or pilot-cloth coat? He had more then enough and, it was becoming painfully clear, more then Egmond himself.

They travelled through the forest and together ate of the bounty of the forest and made use of the body of the forest. Egmond found himself seeing things in a different way as Kirk-Kracht showed him. A tree was not just a tree, but a trove of useful implements, materials, food, shelter. A stream was not just a flowing body of water but part of the throbbing blood vessels of the forest and could direct him wherever he wanted to go, as well as show him everything that was happening nearby as no relationship was more important or more visible in the forest then the relationship between the animals and the water. Kirk-Kracht showed him how to tell where the forest creatures had been and where they would come to be in time. Kirk-Kracht showed him the proper way to wait and listen, and how to perceive the correct moment to act. Despite this, Egmond was still no more then a stumbling child next to Kirk-Kracht, and what knowledge he gained was no more then crumbs from a high table.

Kirk-Kracht led them one night into a clearing, and there he stood and waited. Egmond knew better then to question him. In time, he heard something he knew that he had not heard before- something entirely new. A high pitched series of yips and yelps, approaching through the woods. Sounds, the meaning lost to him, but sounds that had come from a very human source. Egmond felt his pulse quicken, and once again he was selfconsciously aware of his lack of anything close to a weapon. Suddenly Kirk-Kracht threw back his head and let out a wild high yell, screaming a "Ya-hieee!"

The change was immediate. The noises were approaching, they yipped and called and Kirk-Kracht called out in turn- Egmond realised he was calling to them and guiding them. Egmond stared on in horror and fascination as Kirk-Kracht threw back his head and yipped at the top of his lungs. It was a motion that took in his full body, he would bend over and such in a breath, before hurling his shoulders back and _throwing_ the noise up and out. Egmond was impressed more then anything by the sheer volume he could manage.

They came from nowhere, painted savages dressed in rawhide rainments just like Kirk-Kracht- but they were humans, not homumculi. Egmond wanted to retreat, to run, but these men had emerged running from the woods as though from a smoke and would surely run him down without difficulty even in the dark. They approached Kirk-Kracht and he held up a hand. Egmond saw his pointed teeth flash white in the dark, and he embraced the first of the men. They were like him- they moved like him, and were comfortable in their surroundings as he was. Kirk-Kracht introduced Egmond to them with guttural noises, and they seemed able to talk to him thought the language was plainly different. Egmond had no ear for Muskogee but he was vaguely reminded of Welsh he had met on the boats.

The natives spoke to Kirk-Kracht in the manner of ones welcoming home a friend who had been on a long journey, they were obviously happy to see him which helped Egmond relax- but their stone hatchets and bows were very real and there was nothing to say that the warmth they showed Kirk-Kracht would be extended to Egmond. He knew that the natives of the area were regularly oppressed and enslaved by the British and Spanish, he doubted that he could sufficiently explain to them that he was not of that lineage.

In the end, he need not have worried. His proximity to Kirk-Kracht was all the defence he needed- whilst he was with Kirk-Kracht none would touch him. He was brought to their encampment, where low rough-thatched huts surrounded a blazing firepit. Egmond was made welcome and given woven blankets and meat to warm and sustain him, as well as a black drink he could not recognise. The people were entirely untouched by Christianity and revered Kirk-Kracht openly, to Egmond's discomfort. They had no way to understand that the homunculus was only a few steps removed from the devil himself- but on the other hand Kirk-Kracht was able to offer him protection that had saved his life most certainly, and Egmond was in two minds about the situation. He decided that his Christian forebears, who themselves had brought utilitarianism to the holy church and were a practical sort of a race, would understand if he needed to ingratiate himself with the savage in order to live.

The natives were not quite so nocturnal as Kirk-Kracht, in fact they favoured a largely diurnal lifestyle, the forest favoured them best at dawn and twilight. Egmond was taken to a hut where, it was made clear, he could make himself at home and rest. He laid down on a pallet of reeds and found it to be considerably more comfortable then his recent attempts at camp making. He settled himself under his coat as a blanket and tried to rest. Sleeping at night was already coming to seem a little unusual to him thanks to Kirk-Kracht. The homunculus detested the sun and would always be gone before it arrived. Egmond was wondering vaguely whether he too had a hut here among the natives. Without realising it, he started to drift off to sleep, and only woke up in surprise when the girl was pushed roughly into the hut with him.

Tiago das Madeiras cor-de-Rosa prowled the coastline in his brigantine, their supplies were good but not unlimited, and cor-de-Rosa was not above the thought of a little piracy to supplement their needs if it came to that. He no more felt pity for others then he pitied himself for what had become of their original vessel. Even now the _Malleus Factum_ rotted somewhere in the bay they had entered, shattered to splinters up and down her hull by cannonfire. Cor-de-Rosa had not given much thought to what had happened; they had been attacked, sunk, separated and it had taken all of his concentration and skill to track down and rescue his men. He was not a knight given to sentiment, and he tended not to remember the shocked faces of his conquered foes except perhaps the most recent one or two, but there had been so much blood. He might well have died at any moment, and in fact without the element of surprise and furious effort he certainly would have done.

"What troubles you, sir knight?" It was the mate, who removed his hat to mop his brown forehead. The sun was intense, it had a striking fresh quality of heat that cor-de-Rosa found invigoratingly different to the Old World.   
"I am not troubled," replied cor-de-Rosa, "any more then might be expected of a man in my position."   
"If I may sir.." the man hesitated, obviously waiting permission to be so forward. Cor-de-Rosa waved a gauntleted hand impatiently.   
"Please call me Tiago, and I shall call you Duarte. We have been through much blood and fire, and danger surrounds us. Speak plainly to me, while we still have breath with which to speak."   
"Then, Tiago. I must say- why do we not turn to the South? We could find Spanish colonies, we would have help from Catholics. Pressing on to the North is foolhardy surely?"   
"Our mission is to the North."   
"But we have no ship, we are few, what mission remains to us now?"

Cor-de-Rosa turned slowly and regarded him. The blazing sun seemed not to affect him at all, the night was still dressed in his shapeless capes, now stained and filthy with river water and blood- still the knight refused to remove anything, he would not exchange his garments. Of all of them, only cor-de-Rosa remained rigidly and fixedly exactly as he had began.

"Duarte, look to the North. That endless coast goes on as far as God wills and we have barely found any of it yet. The British colonies are spread out, with luck and a little care we can go unseen and be passed before they have any chance to track our course. Out there in the black unknown, we can found Catholic territories and we will return to more riches then we can ever spend. All we have to do is navigate beyond the known colonies as we can lay claims. How would you like a mountain named after you Duarte? Or a river, or a forest? Have three! We will take all we can carry and grow old and fat on our lands."

Duarte looked at him doubtfully. Cor-de-Rosa grinned and clapped him on the shoulder.

"The men are afraid, Tiago."   
"A little fear, a little hardship, and then afterwards Earthly paradise for us. This I promise you Duarte, and tell the men I said so."   
"Will they believe you?"   
"Tell men they can become rich, they will then believe a lot of things. Trust me Duarte."   
"You saved me from the British. I am your man, Tiago, wherever that leads."

Cor-de-Rosa drew the mate belowdecks where he had laid out a map, liberated from the British. With his knife he described a route to the North.

"Hereabouts we were wrecked, and here is the station you were captive in. We who made it to shore must have landed between here... and here. Now listen Duarte- the British made contact with a native village years ago, and we know that they did not capture the Dutchman along with the rest of you- I wish to find these natives. They know the land, they might have news of the Dutchman. If the British have him then we can do nothing, but if not then perhaps we can hire a guide. We might find him yet."

"Come Tiago, is that really likely?"   
"Perhaps not, but was it likely I would find you?"   
"As you say."   
"Prepare the men. We will make landfall before the next day I think."   
"I will."

Egmond sat bolt upright. A figure was nearby in the darkness, and through firelight filtering through the cracked door and the chinks in the wooden walls he saw a definite femininity to the outline, picked out in flickering yellow light. She didn't look too pleased to be there, her movements were slow and hesitant, and she was almost entirely silent. Egmont shifted slightly and asked who was there. The girl shook her head, with a sound like beads rattling against each other. Egmond called out again, louder.

"Tell me! Who are you? What is this?"

He thought he heard something, she was muttering under her breath. Egmond slowly came to realise that the girl was terrified, and further more he was starting to pick out more and more of her body in the darkness; she was naked or near enough to it. Even in the dark, here on a savage continent, far from home and friends and almost certain to die soon, he blushed furiously.

He craned his neck and listened as the girl mumbled at him, he realised to his immense surprise that she was actually speaking in Spanish! He knew enough Portuguese from his sea journeys around the Iberian peninsula and could pick out some words of what she was saying but it was difficult and fractured. He tried to make himself understood to her as best he could.

"My name is Johann van den Egmond, I am a Dutchman- who are you?"   
"I am called Jade,"

She fingered an ornate necklace that twinkled in the dim light, he thought he caught a flash of green from it.

"How do you speak Spanish?"   
"I was taken from my home as a slave, and sold to Spaniards. They had Jesuit missionaries living with them who taught me, they wanted to convert me."   
"Where was this?"   
"Very far from here, South of the Spanish main, they said."

That put her origins deep in the South Americas, possibly. Egmond had heard of the Jesuits, they followed after the pioneers, sometimes they went before them. Wherever the Catholics had established colonies, a Jesuit mission was never far distant. They were known to march under the ir banner _Ad maioram Dei gloriam,_ and to that end they were insistent on trying to convert the savage wherever he- or she- were encountered. The Spanish were in favour of this policy as a firm biblical teaching was necessary in order to bring the slaves into line with Church-sanctioned law. Their law.

"How did you come to be here, Jade?"   
"I was sold to traders, and then on to the British. I managed to escape from them, but I did not know where to go. The tribe took me in and accepted me, and now I act on their behalf dealing with outsiders because I can speak to the Christians."   
"You understand them! Who are these people!"   
"They call themselves Creek."   
"Can they be trusted?"   
"I haven't met a man I could trust, I would not know how to recognise one."   
"Have they hurt you?"

That was the wrong question. Jade ran a hand up and down her shoulder nervously and looked away, Egmond thought better then to push her on the point further. Savages!

"Why did they send you here, Jade? To me, I mean."   
"They want me to talk to you for them. And, they want you to, uhm," here, her Jesuit teaching was lacking, she did not know the word for it but she made a motion, slipping her fingertips down to slide over the curve of her hip and Egmond understood.   
"I see... is this some kind of favour they extend to their guests?"   
"No, but they think that the grey one wants you, they fear that you are going to take him away. They think if you have me, then you will not. If the grey one was not protecting you I think they would have killed you."   
"Ah! They mean my Kirk-Kracht! So is he an outsider to them as well?"   
"Yes, they do not know where he came from, but they think he is some kind of a spirit or god. They think that he has come to end their suffering."   
"And he is protecting me?"   
"The Creek aren't happy, they don't want you here. But they won't raise a hand to you while you have the grey one's protection."   
"I call him Kirk-Kracht, I think he likes that."   
"I really don't think he does. But he is always upset about something anyway."

Jade turned away from him and shifted to the side, before laying down. Egmond was suddenly very aware of the naked girl laying next to him. She was barely more then a child, even in the semi-darkness he could make out the budding breasts and pick out her dark nipples showing against the pale skin. Egmond licked his lips and recited a prayer under his breath in Dutch. He realised that she was watching him silently. Her eyes glinted, still she said nothing.

"I don't... this feels wrong," he said, faltering inbetween Spanish and Portuguese. In response, she reached out for his hand and squeezed it gently, before pressing his palm down on her shallow belly, openly inviting him.

Egmond squeezed his eyes shut. This savage female was trying to entice him into base, animal lust and to his eternal shame he could not help but respond to her entreaties. Yet, she did not want him, she was coerced into this in order to suit the needs of the native tribe who just wanted to pull him away from Kirk-Kracht. In no uncertain terms this was a rape, she was a slave to the wishes of her owners and had been given no choice. Obscurely, he too was being given no choice. The tribe would sooner kill him then feed him, and if it weren't for the presence of Kirk-Kracht he would have been met with a blade instead of a girl-slave.

"I don't want this," he hissed softly, pulling his hand away from her.   
"You don't have to," she murmured. "It's not really happening, it's not really us."   
"Isn't it?"   
"I always said that to myself. It helps. You aren't touching the real me. The priests told me I have a soul that can never be touched. This isn't me."   
"It is a sin."   
"Our bodies may sin yet leave our souls clean. When we are called to heaven we will all repent of our sins and be forgiven."   
"I cannot believe I am talking to you about this."   
"Usually they don't talk, I don't mind."

Egmond stared down at her. He could smell the scent of her clearly, the sweat and grime of the forest, the clean whole smell of woman. He could hear her, the breathing so slow and regular that she was surely working hard to control herself. The touch of her skin, dimpled and yielding beneath his fingers was plaguing his own body.

"Tomorrow," he said slowly, "you must get up and walk out of here, and you can tell them anything you want to tell them."   
"What do you mean?"

Egmond awkwardly laid down, crossing his arms over his belly and closed his eyes.

"You heard me, tell them anything you wish to tell them."


	4. Chapter 4

The morning came, Egmond shivered in the dawn chill and flexed his limbs. The girl was wrapped in a blanket next to him, she had not disturbed his rest. He was starving and thirsty, but the thought of going out alone- especially knowing that in this daylight Kirk-Kracht would not be present- unnerved him.  
  
He pulled himself up and knelt in the small space before the bedding, offering up a prayer for redemption from evil. He was feeling more and more disconnected from civilisation, and with it himself, and the encroachment of sin could not be discounted. He realised suddenly that he no longer had any idea what day it was. He had not been keeping the Lord's day sacred. Egmond moaned softly and clutched his hands to his head, and Jade awoke. She silently came to him and laid her palms on his back, stroking gently. He twitched and pulled away from her, he did not want to be comforted like that. He found himself missing the darkness, and Kirk-Kracht. In the night time things had been somehow clearer. Danger was present but understandable, and if it was dark then at least a fire could be lit. In the day, confusion and sin were everywhere and they hid in plain sight unseen.  
  
He indicated to Jade that he was hungry and thirsty. She nodded and went to find him something to sustain him. When Jade returned she had some kind of dried meat and water in a skin, he took them gratefully to slake a powerful hunger and thirst.  
  
"They ask after you," she said bluntly. "They think you can leave now, they want me to go with you."  
"I can't leave now, I don't even know where I would go to."  
"They do not want you here. The grey one cannot protect you in the day, they think you will take him away soon."  
"I can no more take Kirk-Kracht then I can deliver him to them, can you make them see that?"  
"They would not believe it. The grey one has spoken of you much, he has plans."  
"What does Kirk-Kracht even want?"  
"No one knows. He is... more strange... then any man.  He says things we do not understand, he has understanding no one else does. None would stand against him, he makes the tribe strong."  
"Do they think he is magical?"  
"Is he not?"  
"I do not know. I know only he is damned, and the devil will often give favours to his own."  
  
Jade did not comment on that if she understood him, but Egmond reflected that a Jesuit education would have given her at least a knowledge of the catechisms and common prayer.  
  
"Would you like to pray with me Jade?"  
"No. The priests told me that King Jesus was strong, but he is not strong here."  
"Don't say that! Not ever! Your soul is held in safety by the redeemer!"  
"Will he save you if you ask him to?"  
"It isn't like that. We are tested, and the Lord does not take away our pains, only give us the strength to bear them in His name."  
  
She just snorted and turned away, running her fingers through her long hair and working out kinks and knots. Evidently her mood did not run to discourse. Egmond sighed and turned back to his prayers, resolving to reserve one for her.  
  
Egmond did not leave the hut through the day. The rising sun made activity difficult, the tribe did not become fully active until late in the day when hunts and labours began in the cool before evening. Egmond had been alternately sleeping and praying, he would not do anything until, at the least, he had a chance to talk to Kirk-Kracht properly albeit through a translator. As the night sky ran to pink and red men rand back into the site and there was a clamour of excitement. Egmond looked out curiously. Strangers had come- men he recognised.  
  
Cor-de-Rosa led the way as the deputation entered the native encampment. The Portuguese took care to bear their weapons casually and seem unafraid but they were heavily outnumbered and there was a terrible hot tension in the air. Men of the tribe met them, and asked their business. A few of them spoke English and a smattering of French, as cor-de-Rosa did fluently, and they were able to communicate well enough. Egmond was shocked simply at the sight of Europeans, he had honestly thought that he would never again see such. Without warning his senses returned to him in a flash and he staggered out into the open, crying out to the knight.  
  
Egmond would not piece together the exact sequence of events until some time later. He could speak enough Portuguese to get by, but he did not follow the pidgin-English chatter between the natives and cor-de-Rosa at all. As soon as he was seen, the knight angrily demanded his release- assuming the worst of the savages immediately as might be expected. In the event, the natives were delighted at the thought of their problem being plucked, as it were, from their grasps. But when a soldier grabbed at Egmond's arm and he realised that they intended to leave with him right away he protested noisily. He could not simply leave, not without saying something to Kirk-Kracht, not knowing they would never again meet. He couldn't tell that to cor-de-Rosa. He could not make a military man, a strategist, a leader of men, understand so whimsical a fancy and he should not have tried. Cor-de-Rosa drew his blade and made it clear in no uncertain terms that the Dutchman was going with them, no matter what and without delay. The natives drew in, readying weapons of their own as the Portuguese hefted wheel-locks and knives.  
  
What no one, and especially not Egmond, had counted on was to be interrupted by the spectacle of Kirk-Kracht striding into the middle of the situation, wrapped all about in sheets and rawhide skins, looking like nothing so much as an ambulatory tent. His unnatural voice, the gleam of sharp teeth in the shadow of his hood, was enough for cor-de-Rosa.  
  
"Homunculus! Devil-damned whore of Hell!" A war cry from the knight and his weapons were up, Kirk-Kracht barely had time to raise his own sickle and catch the thrust awkwardly. His wrist extended out from the hide dressing and into the light, eliciting a scream from him where the dying light touched grey skin. The homunculus had been hurt, and that was enough. War was the inevitable result from that moment on, as war had always followed the arrival of the damned homunculi throughout Europe.  
  
Egmond ran, they all ran. Everywhere people were screaming, running, fighting. Fires, blood. He had never seen cor-de-Rosa in battle before, the knight slew men left and right. He saw sailors fall and natives fall. He heard Jade scream but he could hear nothing, nor could he see. Sweat, perhaps blood, flooded his eyes. He ran.  
  
The forest was impossible, a wooden labyrinth. Every time he looked around there seemed to be fires in the distance. Noises closed in on him. He thought he saw Kirk-Kracht through the trees once, running, he seemed to be naked now that the sun had set. He was sure that he saw Kirk-Kracht leap onto a man and disembowel him with one savage blow of his sickle. He had never seen a homunculus fight before, either. Egmond could not shake the feeling that he was being pursued, that battle was following him specifically. He was right in this. Kirk-Kracht chased after him, and cor-de-Rosa chased Kirk-Kracht. Egmond tried to circle around the native site, as desperate as he was he did not want to become entirely lost. Even in his mad flight he knew instinctively to look to the moon, and could set a rough compass bearing from the pole star.  
  
He had not expected to find Jade, however. The young slave had taken the opportunity to flee at last, and staggered into the forest. Egmond would have missed her entirely even a week ago, but in his time in the dense wood he had come to recognise things that were out of place,  he saw a flash of bare thigh through a stand of bracken and pulled to a halt. He cried out her name and went to her, and she clutched at him instinctively. Through the roar of dying men and fighting he tried to pick out anything Portuguese, and dragged the girl after him.  
  
Kirk-Kracht found them with ease, he had no difficulty at all tracking the blundering trail Egmond left as though he had left a track of paint, and leapt out in front of Egmond. He chattered harshly at them.  
  
"He's asking," Jade began, but paused, "he's speaking too fast, I, ah, I think he is blaming you for everything."  
"I know! Tell him I'm sorry!"  
"I don't think he's going to listen to me."  
"Try!"  
  
She spoke to him, and he watched her lips. He looked, if anything, sarcastic. Kirk-Kracht did not have a chance to answer before cor-de-Rosa was upon them again. The knight was maddened, and slick with blood. His capes were sodden with gore and his boots slicked with blood. His hat was dripping with blood. His blades came like lightning, and even was hard pressed just to hold his own, lashing out with his sickle. He was cut and cut again, while cor-de-Rosa flowed and floated like a bloody lurid spectre. The knight was a horror in the dark and the expression Kirk-Kracht wore went from raw anger to a blank mask of furious concentration as he fought for his very life. Egmond realised then that there would be no escape from the knight. Cor-de-Rosa would never surrender until he had exactly what he wanted.  
  
"Knight! Sir!" Egmond screamed, "It's enough! There's no need for this!"  
"These lands," yelled cor-de-Rosa between sword sweeps, "these savages, this damned one, will know that I can be their master!"  
  
It was then that Egmond realised, somewhere in the sea crossing, in the wreck and the horrors that followed, somewhere in this black jungle, cor-de-Rosa had quite lost his mind. What fought and ranted was shaped like a man and wore a man's skin, but there was little if anything human there. The heat and the darkness and the forest had taken it all, leaving behind something that could cleverly persuade most of the time that it remained civilised.  
  
Kirk-Kracht was the noble one. He slashed and hacked at cor-de-Rosa's blades to drive the knight back, he was the one who had followed Egmond for reasons of his own but not with murder in his heart. He was the one who protected and kept the night from Egmond. How sudden it was, that the truth became clear. It was no more then a turn of one's head and the view changed to show things as they really were. Egmond realised that he would lay down his life to protect the homunculus, and that he bore no more kinship to his fellow European then he did to a stone.  
  
"Cor-de-Rosa!" Egmond cried out, "I'll go with you, we'll go right now! I'll do anything you want, just go! Leave them, don't hurt him!"  
  
The knight seethed at him, practically frothing at the mouth. For just an instant he stepped back, easing his attack. Both combatants needed a moment, for the sake of their breath, but the fight had not ceased.  
  
"Traitor!" hissed the Portuguese in a cutting low tone, "traitor! You want to throw your soul away with this beast?"  
"No, cor-de-Rosa. I want to save yours."  
"Will we kneel together and pray now, you Dutch lapdog of Luther? You scum? You running-dog?"  
"We can go, we can go home together. Just... put up your blades, sir knight."  
  
Kirk-Kracht had become very quiet and stilled his breath and body. He watched the knight coolly and hung his arms in weariness.  
  
"No, Dutchman, I'll finish my bloody work here today, and when I return it will be as the founder of a new land. I will father a nation here, and plant my seed in history!"  
"You are mad! You have no nation, and your plans are in ruins! It is time to go home, where we belong!"  
  
Kirk-Kracht took in a gulp of air and held it, waiting.  
  
Cor-de-Rosa bellowed and charged him, deadly blades lashing like slender needles through the night.  
  
Kirk-Kracht dropped as though he had stumbled, in a fluid motion his arm was up and he hurled his sickle, wheeling toward the knight.  
  
Cor-de-Rosa twisted, he seemed to pivot upon air itself as his body flexed improbably out of training and sheer instinct.  
  
The sickle slashed into his cape and twisted through cloth. Cor-de-Rosa cried out, but he was uncut. Kirk-Kracht was upon him and they clasped each other. Cor-de-Rosa tried to slash and batter him with his blades, Kirk-Kracht would not release him. The homunculus seized upon his sickle as the knight kicked him brutally to the ground, there was a wrench of tearing cloth. The sickle, wicked bladed thing sharper then any human steel, lashed open the knight's capes and cut his chest.  
  
Egmond looked on in horror, Jade clasped her hands to her mouth. They stared, the knight stood up and realised that her breasts were exposed.


End file.
